


Questions of Bitterness, Cinnamon Rolls, and Hope

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Reunions, Slightly Philosophical Questions, Sundering of the Elves, The Nature of Hope, Waiting, War of Wrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Indis and Eärwen waited for the ships to return from the War of Wrath.It was not the first time Indis waited for elves to come from the other side of the sea.
Relationships: Eärwen/Finarfin | Arafinwë
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	Questions of Bitterness, Cinnamon Rolls, and Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Art embedded below. I was very happy to actually manage to claim this pinch hit (I was convinced that I would be beaten to it). I also am very appreciative to raiyana for allowing me to run with my idea of Eärwen and Indis waiting for Finarfin, instead of perhaps a more straightforward one person waiting story - thank you!

Art: "Coming Home" by [raiyana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana)

“I had not thought you would come.” Eärwen turned from the pier, looking back at the elf she had seen only on rare occasions since the darkness had fallen on Valinor centuries prior. It was not that they had avoided each other, only that it had seemed easier to cling to what was close and comforting instead of wandering through lands emptied of many of the people they had once known.

Indis stood behind her, cloak and embroidered shoes abandoned in consideration for the sands that made up the beach. It had been a rare occasion even before everything for her to come to Alqualondë, for even Tirion had been far from the city that Indis had loved before she married Finwe, the one that the Vanyar had founded and made their home in Valinor. 

Eärwen had thought the Vanyar had never looked back to where they had come from once they arrived, and perhaps that they had forsaken such thoughts for all of their people had come to these lands. 

The ocean had held no true call for Indis, not the way it had for Eärwen herself, nor had it seemed an escape the way it had always been for Indis’ youngest son. Indeed, Indis had always seemed pained to look upon it.

“The winds say that the ships will return soon,” Indis said. “I would not miss such, nor the news they may bring.”

“The winds, or Lord Manwe?”

“Manwe speaks rarely of such. I fear he still mourns his brother’s fate. Irmo came to me in a dream, though he will not bring word of who dwells in his own brother’s Halls now, it seemed clear I should come now.” Indis smiled lightly, though it barely reached her eyes. “I wait for my son and my nephew, and for news of my grandchildren, if your father will permit me to wait in his kingdom.”

Eärwen turned back to the sea, though she moved a step to the side, allowing Indis to stand next to her. “He will be glad to see one of his old friends again, though doubtless he will wish it could have been different circumstances. But he will not begrudge you your wait, nor shall I.”

Indis inclined her head briefly. Eärwen considered asking her of the others, of Ingwe and Findis, and of the rumors that one of Fingolfin’s houses was to be released soon. Hopefully Argon, whose loss had been heralded on the wings of the eagles that had rescued Maedhros from the cliff so long ago. But so too could it be Turgon, who Finrod had seemed pained to speak of, or Fingon, if he had finally deemed his wait without hope, or Fingolfin himself, or Aredhel, or even another that Eärwen had never met. But those questions were painful in themselves, and even more painful when they gave rise to other questions, including when her other sons would once more walk these lands and the fates of those who would never again walk them. 

Instead they lapsed back into silence, staring at the sea that did not yet show any boats returning. The sun continued to shine upon it, and at times Eärwen almost felt as though she could see the gentle curve of a boat returning through the mists, but always did it turn out to be just a wave reflecting light or a swan that had swam slightly too far out on the ocean and now made its way back to land.

They continued to wait until the sun was long gone and the moon rose above the sea again. Finally, when Olwë himself had appeared at the pier and told them that neither Ulmo nor the sailors who kept watch from their fishing boats had sent word, they returned to the palace of Alqualonde and settled for a late dinner.

“Will you return to the pier?” Indis asked as she finished a last forkful of rice.

Eärwen shook her head. “Nay. Ulmo would have sent word if they would return in the night. I must finish the bookkeeping for Findaráto - he has sent the paperwork from Tirion, it is too much for him alone.”

“If you wish me to, I know some of it, or did,” Indis said. She smiled again, and this time Eärwen recognized it for what it was.

She nodded, already considering which pieces she could give to Indis to complete, and which would distract her best from her worries. “Come. Findaráto will appreciate a more timely return of it than if I do it alone, and doubtless you wish the same distractions I do from the wait.”

“Yes, thank you.” Indis stood from the table, seemingly eager to put distance between herself and the niceties of dining among others.

Eärwen led her down the corridors, until they reached the rooms Olwë had kept for his daughter and son-in-law, even when they had been called to Tirion to rule. Once there, Eärwen pulled the box full of Finrod’s letters and requests down, shuffling through them until she pulled out the records of grains and other crops, setting them on the desk in front of Indis.

“Findaráto has no real head for the minute matters of crops, I’m afraid, especially when so many are gone to other lands and our needs have changed.”

If Eärwen had thought the sight would scare Indis away, she was relieved to see it did not. Indis pulled the papers towards her, efficiently sorting them into neat piles stacked on the desk.

“Finwë was much the same - oh, he would do them in the end, if he had to, but he never favored them. Nolofinwë or Findis would take over the task sometimes, or Carnistir, but mostly I finished the count for him. Finwë would spend more time grumbling over it than actually completing the task.” Indis had already pulled a quill and ink from the drawer, looking over the papers. “Do you have a piece of scrap paper I can do the figures on before I put them on the official copies?”

“Yes.” Eärwen turned, pulling more paper from the drawer, and handing it over.  
Indis did not look up again, rapidly copying over numbers and correcting mistakes as she went. It was as though now, given a task she could do without thinking of what could be, she was determined to not let her mind think of anything else until it was done.

Eärwen watched for a moment before pulling her own work towards her, working until she had finished the stack and was lightly dozing on the couch, waiting for the sun to rise again and their watch to begin again. “Do you wish to rest, Indis, and continue the work later?”

When Indis only shook her head, Eärwen let the subject drop until the next morning.

“Do your dreams bother you even when you rest but lightly? You did not seem to wish to break your work last night.”

“In my dreams lately, I am always waiting on this beach.” Indis pulled her shawl closer around her, huddling deeper into it and avoiding looking at Eärwen. “Did your father ever tell you that when he arrived with his people, Ingwë and I had come to join Finwë and those waiting with him?”

Eärwen shook her head, wondering at the change in conversation. “Nay. He said it was a time of great reunions and joy, but he always seemed hesitant to go into further details. He seemed sad each time over the family he had left behind, and I learned to not press further.”

“Do not mistake my meaning. It was a time of great joy, and after so long waiting, we were gladdened to see him.” Indis continued to stare into the sea, not looking at Eärwen, or indeed anywhere but the waves that crashed gently onto the beach.

“But?”

“Finwë and Ingwë were great friends with your uncle, as I am sure you know. It was a bitter feeling to know that the way was shut, and Elwë would not walk on these shores with us.” Indis turned then. Eärwen was surprised to see tears in her eyes, tears that Indis usually refused to let show or fall. “Sometimes I think that was the first and most bitter betrayal we suffered in Valinor. For how now can any of those who remember those days trust that those we long for will actually return?”

That was not what Eärwen had ever expected Indis to say. The sense of loss was not unusual, but the sense of betrayal was something that Eärwen had only heard at times from those few Teleri old enough to remember coming across the sea and also willing to speak of those who had been left behind. Her own uncle’s loss was rarely spoken of, except when he was named among those who had first come to Valinor and had intended to bring them to safety. Valinor was not a place to dwell on what had been left behind.

And to call such the most bitter betrayal, that was unheard of in a land that had seen Morgoth wreck such destruction that they had still not recovered from and which had left the lands so empty. “Not the release of Morgoth, or the death of Finwe?”

“Manwë does not understand evil, and loves his brother still. And Morgoth himself loves power and control, and would not be content to be confined within these lands or to see an elf hold something he wished for himself. Finwë was right when he said Morgoth had sewn discord between elves, and great suffering could have been avoided if not for that,” Indis said. She took a breath before continuing. “But it cannot be that bitter if it is everything that could have been expected of them. Elwë’s loss was not so, we all knew that the third host was slower and larger than our own, but neither was it expected to splinter so thoroughly that even Elwë himself was left behind.”

“You expected him to come at last,” Eärwen said. She looked out at the water once more, trying to imagine what it would feel like if the ships came back with only half of those they had left with, and not because they had died in battle, but because they had wished to delay and wait for their kin. Would Finarfin make that choice, if he thought he could convince their daughter to return with them? Would the Valar give him the chance to make the choice to leave himself, or would they force him to become lost too? Sudden doubt filled her. 

“I did not think the Valar would leave one of the elves they had chosen behind, not due to Elwë’s own choice, but because he was lost and the delay lasted too long. I am not sure my brother and Finwë would have left so soon if they had known the loss would be that bitter and long lasting, that now Finwë will only see his old friend again for as long as they dwell together in the Halls, and Ingwë shall only see Elwë by Finwë losing him.”

They fell into silence for a moment, before Indis broke it, voice trembling. “Does your father ever speak of them?”

“Sometimes,” Eärwen said. She thought for a moment. “More when my children were young, telling them stories of their family in other lands, though I know Findaráto came to see him with news of Elwë and Doriath after he was reborn, and they spent long hours in conversation. I think Findaráto might have brought word to others as well.”

“He did, yes. He visited Ingwë and spoke to him of both his time in Doriath and what he saw in the Halls.” There was an odd pause, as though Indis was afraid to say the next, but eventually she forced herself to. “He told your father of events in Menegroth after his own death, with the Dwarves, I suspect.”

“Elwë’s death? Yes.” That had been a hard conversation, one that had finally seemed to break her father’s iron will and composure in the aftermath of everything he had lost. She was still unsure if it was the knowledge that Elwë had lived so long after Olwë had left the rest of their people, or if it was the knowledge that Elwë had died so soon compared to what should have been.

“Did he tell him too of how Elwë and Finwë met again in the Halls? That was the only solace Ingwë has taken of their fates in centuries, though I know it is different for your father.” Whether Indis herself had taken solace from such, she did not say and Eärwen did not ask.

Eärwen thought over her father’s reactions. “Yes - yes, he must have. Atar was relieved that Elwë was not alone, though grieved to hear of the rest of everything.”

Indis smiled briefly, a bitter fractured smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Good. That hope is what I must cling to, that even if this does not end how we wish it too, I can hope that one day a similar relief will be mine as well.”

“Do you think it likely that they will not return?” Eärwen was not sure she truthfully wanted the answer, but it also seemed like an unavoidable part of the conversation they had been having for the last few days.

Indis fell into silence again. Eärwen waited until finally it seemed that only the sound of the waves crashing against the beach would be her answer. Silence still surrounded them, until finally the sun began to set and the stars rose in the sky. It was a moonless night, and Eärwen could almost believe it to be a time before the Trees had been killed.

Indis then began to speak, barely a whisper above the sound of the waves.

“Elwë was supposed to be in the last arrivals, and other friends that I have not seen in centuries, and the Valar gave us no warning before they were not there. I suppose that they would say if Arafinwë and Ingwion were not to return, but I do not know if it will even occur to them that they should before the ships arrive back,” she said. “They did not tell us of Finwë’s death either, until it was too late and others revealed it.”

“Then why wait here?” Eärwen clung to the thought that Ulmo at least would warn them if there were losses unlooked for and hopes that would not be fulfilled. It seemed like torture to wait while thinking it was likely that such hopes could be naught more than a facade.

“Because it is worse to wait alone in Valimar, or in the company of those that know there is no hope of their loved ones returning this way, than it is to wait here and cling to the hope and joy that this time, my hopes will be fulfilled. I am unwilling to lose that, even now in the face of all that has happened.”

Indis left first that evening, leaving Eärwen to stare out onto the waves until she finally sat down on the sands and let herself be lured into sleep there on the beach.

“Would you tell me, my lord, if my husband was not to return on the ships?”

Eärwen was not sure if Ulmo really walked in her dreams with her, or if this was just a normal dream conjured by nothing except her own mind and the conversations she had had with Indis in recent days. She stepped forward regardless of such doubts, wading into the sea until the bottom of her dress was soaked with water and clung to her, making it harder to walk but allowing her to come closer to Ulmo and question him without screaming.

Ulmo rose above her briefly, towering high above the sea and the mist, before settling down into the waves and looking at her. “What has brought such doubts to your mind that you would question your husband’s return?”

That was not an answer, and Eärwen forced herself to remember such when she wished to cling to the comfort offered instead. “I have heard of my own father’s arrival in Valinor, and how until the moment the island was emptied and it became known that no more would arrive, those who had missed their friends and families kept the hope that they would. I would not have such false hope for myself.”

“There is no false hope. Even those thought forsaken may arrive one day, when the time of Elves has come to an end.” Ulmo looked at her, curiosity in his eyes. “Or does not your son now walk again in these lands with you, when once my brethren would have had you believe such impossible?”

The truth was a horribly tricky thing. For it was true that Finrod now walked again in Valinor, his return unlooked for those centuries ago when Finarfin had turned away from his brothers’ quest and had watched all their children leave over the ice.

It was also true that had never been the means by which Eärwen and Finarfin had hoped for their son’s return, and the few details they had heard of Finrod’s final few days had haunted them since.

“But such is not the actual fulfillment of everyone’s hopes, nor does it necessarily mean that there will be happiness as a result. Is it not true that Elwë’s return from the Halls would make it the case that now the three kings who were supposed to lead the elves to Valinor will never again walk together on these shores?” Eärwen refused to quit questioning him now, even if this was nothing more than her own mind’s ramblings.

She did not think that was the case, though, when Ulmo stood again, considering such as he looked into the distance.

“Nay, it is not the final answer to their hopes. But again I would say to you, and also to Indis for I see that you have been discussing such matters with her, that the paths of the world are not yet set so deeply that they cannot change. My brethren have changed their minds before, and found pity in their hearts for those parted, even as Námo found for your own cousin when she loved Beren.”

“But such is not an answer to my initial question, and I should still like an answer to it,” Eärwen said, shoving the thoughts such gave rise to the back of her mind to consider later, on if Ulmo really meant to imply such about the sundering of souls and if Indis could really hold to hope of such reunions one day. That was a question she could not allow herself to consider now, when there was so much more to deal with in the moment.

“If such is within my power, daughter of Olwë, I shall bring you news of Arafinwe, whatever fate may be his.” Ulmo disappeared then, wading back into the mist.

Eärwen waited a moment, but felt the weight of the waking world beginning to press down upon her, and slipped out of the dream to the sight of the mists closing again around Ulmo as he waded back. She wondered if he intended to swim all the way back to Beleriand, or if he would just appear where he willed himself to.

There was a hand on her shoulder, pushing gently as though attempting to wake her. She must have fallen asleep on the beach itself, for the sand rubbed against her skin and rested in her hair.

“Eärwen?” Indis knelt in the sand next to her, blonde hair falling forward as she shook Eärwen’s shoulder. “Eärwen, are you well? I had thought when I left the beach last night you would come behind me, but I found you here this morning.”

It had seemed like only minutes had passed since Indis had left and she had slipped into her dream, but the sun was already rising again over the sea. Eärwen took a chance to glance at the ocean, though she already knew there would be no change from the night before.

“I am well,” Eärwen said, pushing herself onto her elbows and then to sit, shaking the sand from her hair. “I dreamed of Ulmo, or he sent a dream, I do not know which.”

“Good news?” Indis said lightly, sitting beside her and staring into the ocean again, even as she pushed a basket in between the two of them, flipping the cloth covering what was inside open to reveal breakfast piled inside it.

“More confusing than good, I think, but at least it was not bad news.” Eärwen took a roll from the basket, biting into it. It was not like most of what was served in Alqualondë, and she turned it over in her mouth, trying to decide what it reminded her of. “Did you make these? It reminds me of the bread that you brought when Nerwen was born.”

“I did. I could not sleep last night, and your mother said I was free to use the kitchens as I wished. They were Arafinwe’s favorites as a boy, though he eventually learned to eat other foods as well.” Indis took one from the basket as well. “He was the only one to like them. Nolofinwë and Lalwendë preferred heartier breads, and Fëanáro, Faniel, and Findis preferred plain breads that they could pile with other things. Only Arafinwe liked his with cinnamon swirled throughout it and piled on top. Some days I would bring him to the kitchen with me, and we would make our own breakfasts before the rest of the children came to the kitchen and demanded something more in line with their tastes.”

Eärwen took another one from the pile, biting into it. It did seem like the kind of food that would appeal to Finarfin’s sweet tooth, and perhaps something she could use to tempt him into eating when otherwise he would drown himself in his work again after his return. “Will you teach me to make them? Or make them yourself when he returns?”

“Yes, to both your questions, if you still wish to be taught when we finish our watch for the day,” Indis said. She waited until Eärwen had finished her breakfast before she spoke again. “You said Ulmo had confused you in your dream.”

“Yes. I suppose it could have just been a dream, and I simply confused myself, but it felt different.” Eärwen paused, unsure how to broach the rest. Simply blurting it out and allowing Indis to organize the thoughts into discrete piles as she had the papers to send to Finrod seemed wrong, and yet there was no obvious place to start her explanation

Indis shrugged. It seemed she had missed most of Eärwen’s internal debate. “I have not had the pleasure of Ulmo sending me dreams myself, but seldom do the Valar appear in dreams except when they will themselves to appear. If you say it felt different, I would trust that it was Ulmo himself. He favors your family, after all.”

True, though Ulmo had seemed distracted in recent years and less responsive to their questions. Eärwen had clung to the hope, seemingly borne out by Finrod’s familiarity with Ulmo, that he had kept his attention focused on Beleriand and Morgoth and that was why he had been less present in Alqualondë than ever before.

“He spoke of hope,” Eärwen said. “And reunions.”

“The Valar often see hope where none seems to be visible.” Indis looked at the sea. “Perhaps it is because the world is so different to them that it is to elves. What is the difference between a decade, a century, and an age when one helped to make the world, and have no conception of a world without you and those you love? And yet such times do matter to us, and that is not always in their minds.”

“Do you think it is true though that there is always hope in the end?” It seemed hard to believe, and Eärwen was disinclined to tell Indis exactly what had been said, in case Ulmo was wrong, or in case Ulmo was right but the future was so far away it was not even visible to the wise among elves. What use would such hope be now, if in the end it was thousands of years away and by the time it came true, the memories of such hope had faded even in the minds of elves?

“In the end? Perhaps. I have seen many strange things. I do not see an end to them, and I have seen the Valar bend and change. But the end is not something I can count my days based on, unlike the arrival of ships.”

The sea looked peaceful again, with no hints of the ships arriving. They waited and waited, until once more the sun set.

“Come. I would not leave you on this beach again to slip into dreams and wake coated in sand,” Indis said with one last glance at the waves.

Eärwen stood on stiff knees, and grabbed the basket Indis had brought that morning. “It would be hard for you to teach me how to make those rolls either, if we remained on the beach.”

Indis laughed for the first time since she had joined the watch for the ships. “It would. Come, we will make the rolls, and then we can both bribe Arafinwë to eat breakfast upon his return.”

“He rarely eats breakfast,” Eärwen said, thinking over their marriage.

Indis grinned. “He rarely eats a normal breakfast, and now that he is an adult pretends that he is above such things. Give him sweet foods, he will eat them.”

Eärwen laughed at the idea, and then thought over the day’s new knowledge. It seemed slightly odd that Indis joked more than she seemed concerned about Finarfin’s tendencies towards sweets and cinnamon. “You seem more indulgent of his love for sweets for breakfast than many elves I know.”

Indis’ grin only broadened, as though she had some secret she could not help by reveal. “I could hardly hold such against him, when I myself do not particularly enjoy such unless it is sweet.”

It was easier now to see where some of Finarfin’s habits had come from, and also the joking grin that filled his face and eyes and was echoed in Indis’ expression. Eärwen followed Indis into the kitchens, where Indis had already begun to pull spices and ingredients from the shelves, speaking rapidly as she began to lay out the recipe.

It was also easy to picture Finarfin waiting in the corner, or helping them when not trying to sneak a taste. Hopefully that would be the case soon, if Finarfin arrived on the ship and Indis stayed with them for sometime, as Eärwen now hoped she would.

Days passed like that, both of them trying to keep their hope that the ships would return soon and everyone they looked for would be upon them. Some days they remained together the entire time, while other days one or the other would vanish first back to the palace, when the beach itself became too overwhelming.

The sun had just barely risen over the horizon when the first hint of white showed through the mists surrounding the dock. After so many days when such hints had turned out to be false hopes that were dashed upon the rocks surrounding their lands, Eärwen did not even give voice to her hopes.

But then she saw another, and another, and Indis was standing beside her, leaning forward. “Is that-?”

“Yes.” Eärwen wanted to run back to the city and climb to the highest tower so that she could see better, but she did not wish to leave Indis alone. Surely someone else would take the watch, and bring news if something changed.

The ships were slow to approach, growing in number and size from what had first appeared to be only white foam upon the sea, until they could begin to see the elves manning the ship, Telerin mariners darting up and down the mast and over the docks, and soldiers still decked in the armors of the Vanyar and Noldor. But neither of them could see who the soldiers were, nor if they were the ones longed for.

Neither of them had mentioned their fears to the other, but as the first ship neared the dock, Indis clasped Eärwen’s hand in her own. “Whatever happens, neither of us are alone.”

“Thank you.” Eärwen searched her mind for something more meaningful to say. Something that carried the weight of all the conversations they had over the past weeks, and something that would comfort them regardless of what happened. But she could think of nothing, as her mind focused only on the ships and who could be upon them.

“He is on the ship.” Ossë’s head surfaced from the water near them, a grin on his face. Doubtless he had been pleased by the results of the battle, or had sunk some of the enemy himself beneath waves and water, delighting in his own role to play against the enemy that had almost taken him under his thrall. “Ulmo was delayed by matters, but he wished me to bring you that message and that his promise is fulfilled.”

That - Eärwen felt a laugh bubbling its way into her throat, even as Indis was thanking Ossë, courtly and entirely at odds with the way Ossë always acted, no matter who was involved.

The ship continued to sail closer, and finally, there at the front of the ship, standing with Ingwion, they could both see Finarfin, crown on his head. None of the others were with them, neither Galadriel nor Fëanor’s remaining sons, nor were the Silmarils there, and those were questions that would have to be answered, and there would doubtless be more separations still to be mourned.

But for now there was simply a ship on the water, the looked for elves returning to Valinor in the wake of all that had happened, and a hope for the future.


End file.
